The Reluctant Dark Knight/Epilogue
Please note that only Numbuh 404 may edit this page. Pending... “What happened, Papa Smurf?” Handy asked upon their dismal return. The old Smurf sighed and scanned the crowd of uncertain faces all gazing upon his. “I’m afraid we failed to stop Gargamel, my little Smurfs,” he confessed. Brainy snuck away and disappeared as he continued. “My teleporting potion sent us to the King’s castle instead of the hovel, so there was no way we could have smurfed back in time. As much as it pains me to smurf, Johan is no longer his Smurfy self. He belongs to the side of darkness now.” A startling gasp echoed over the village followed by a worrisome susurration. “What does this mean for us?” Somebody asked. For a few moments Papa’s eyes darted to the ground while his hands were clasped behind his back. Eventually, he looked up and steeled himself for the truth he regretted to bestow. “…We must keep him away from the village indefinitely. Our survival depends on it now.” '. . .' “Your room is in the cellar for now,” Gargamel said, gesturing to the end of the room, “but if you prove your worth, I’ll make your accommodations more suitable.” “Thank you,” Johan replied. He walked towards it as he heard, “Call me ‘master’ from now on,” behind him. He turned his head and nodded before opening the cellar door and descending the stairs. It was poorly lit, but with the assistance of a few candles, he believed it could be improved. Once he was out of earshot, Scruple tugged his master’s robe with a muddled countenance. “I’m glad everything’s worked out so far, Garggy, but why’d you give him the antidote in the first place? What if he actually got to use it and we lost our Smurfs?” he asked. “It doesn’t surprise me that we did, but still – any logic behind that part of the plan?” “Oh yes, my boy,” he grinned, “You see, that vial of liquid I gave him was useless.” "It was?" “Of course, you idiot. Why would I do something as thoughtless as create a potent antidote?” “Well, you’ve done less impressive things in the past…” Scruple rolled his eyes and received a grimace from the old man as he continued. “That’s not important now, Scruple. We may have lost the six Smurfs today, but in good time we’ll have the entire village captured thanks to our knight.” He lifted one hand and triumphantly added, “And once we destroy them, we’ll overthrow the kingdom and take power! Can you imagine it – me, a king, and no more wretched blue creatures or their friends standing in our way!” He cackled and patted his back; then he shoved him closer to the cauldron. “Clean that oversized pot – we’ll be using it for dinner tonight.” “Why should I do it?” he complained, “Give this job to the new guy! I need a break already!” “Fine, fine,” Gargamel approved, flicking his hand, “Fetch the young man and I’ll have you gather herbs instead.” His apprentice groaned and dragged himself to the cellar door, knocked a few times, and then told Johan what his task was. Then he grabbed a sack from the table and made his way out the door. "I'll be back, Garggy." While the wizard searched the spice cabinets, Johan approached the cauldron and examined it to determine the workload; it wasn’t much, thankfully, so he picked up a scrubbing brush and began scraping the inner surface. He overheard his master muttering something about having nothing good and decided to comment. “I have some money, Gargamel, so I could go to the seaside market and purchase a chicken or two.” Gargamel glanced at him and replied with, “Give it to me and I’ll do it myself while you prepare the pot.” Upon his approach, he received a small tie-up bag containing four gold coins; one had King Gerard’s face on it and the other three showed the King. “Thank you, my boy,” he said, giving him a reassuring pat on the head. He left the hovel without another word. '. . .' After a listless journey back to the castle, Falla dismounted and led Gentile into her stable pen with Peewit at her side. She couldn’t lift her head or even force herself to smile; Johan’s eyes were impossible to un-see and the sound of his voice when he begged her to release him replayed in her head relentlessly. The rest of her body was functioning on autopilot – walking, removing her stallion’s saddle and reins, opening the doors to the throne room. It wasn’t until she was standing before the King that she was returned to reality. “Your majesty,” she began quietly, “something has happened.” She caught sight of Princess Savina entering from the west corridor with Dame Barbara and hesitated to go on. “What is the matter, my subject?” the King asked, sitting up in his seat. His tone changed to reflect his awareness of her damaged state. “Are you feeling ill?” Peewit took her hand, which she seemed oblivious to; her eyes were much shinier than usual, he noticed. She lowered her head and brought a hand to her face to wipe the escaping tears away from sight, and a minute ticked by once she tried again to speak. "Johan. He..." The words were stuck in her throat as it thickened, and then she realized that any effort to finish the sentence would result in losing control of her sorrow. Peewit looked at the King and enlightened him for her. “Gargamel gave Johan a potion at King Gerard’s Grand Ball and now he’s…evil, Sire.” The princess gasped and covered her mouth with her hands while her uncle sat back, stunned. There was nothing more to explain and, to make matters worse, it was too late to reverse to their knowledge. Finally, he formulated a response. "My best knight is now our enemy?" "Yes, Sire," he confirmed sadly. “Oh, it can’t be true!” Savina pleaded, stepping forward. “He would never betray the kingdom – that’s not who he is.” She met the eyes of her fellow lady and added, “How could this have happened?” “…It was my fault,” Falla stated. Her tone was strong, but her limbs trembled, and she was forced to clench her jaw. Suddenly, she bolted from the room, unable to hide her emotions any longer. Peewit pursued, leaving the members of royalty without a second thought. He kept on her trail, which led up the stairway to the main tower and into her room along the upper hallway. He hesitated to enter and stopped to catch his breath for several minutes. Once his heart rate dropped to normal rate again, he pulled the handle and stepped inside. Falla lie on her bed, face down crying into the pillow, and didn’t acknowledge his entrance. The sight of her in such despair struck him like a lightning bolt. He climbed over the side and sat on the mattress with his legs crossed and his hands holding his ankles, patiently waiting for her to lift her head and settle down. Eventually, she was calm enough to speak and rolled over onto her back to stare at the ceiling. At that point, he put his hand on her shoulder and tried to smile. She rested her left hand over his across her chest, sniffling now and then; he scooted closer. "I don't think it's your fault," he said, "It was probably mine." “Why’s that?” She turned her head and furrowed her brow a little. He removed his hand and lay on his back, holding them together over his stomach, and looked at the cracked stone above them, which he assumed was what she was looking at. He adjusted himself so their sides were touching before explaining his perspective. Author's Note Pending...